Brief Summary…

• Recycled vintage fruit spoon
• Hand carved feather style
• Hand cut from the spoon with traditional jewellers piercing saw.
• Option to be presented with donor spoon.
• Free engraving on spoon handle if chosen.
• Hairy Growler sterling silver earring wires
• Size :  25mm * 14mm
• Symbolism : courage, adventure, steadfastness, fun
• Handcrafted & Recycled in Cambridge
• made with Love

A little more detail…

Recycled vintage spoon – Anchor of the Soul Earrings

These are completely unique and original earrings, carved in the shape of an anchor to give the wearer steadfastness of courage in the face of adversity. Everyone can use a little grounding sometimes! Each and every pair of these earrings is hand cut and carved from an unwanted vintage spoon, making them a perfect, ethical choice.

During the process of creating them, I sketch the anchor designs onto the surface of the spoon, then meticulously carve away the design with a traditional hand chisels and cut details using a traditional jewellers’ saw. Once I have cut the details, I give the earrings an extremely bright polishing which really brings them to life. As I hand-cut each coin individually to order, every one is completely individual; they look and feel special.

You are welcome to request these lovely anchor earrings to be presented with the ‘donor’ spoon, which closely connects the wearer to their interesting history and green, ethical origins. If this option is chosen, I can also engrave a lovely personal inscription on the spoon handle.

These earrings provide a reminder that no matter how stormy the seas, there will always be a safe harbour waiting.

If you liked these wee anchors, why not have a look at some flying pigs to restore your faith in the fantastic?

Handmade & Recycled in Cambridge, UK. Complete with the finest sterling silver ear wires and ‘donor’ spoon.

Size : Approx 25 mm * 14 mm

♻✄➷♥ℋℊ

Some words from my Angel…

The surface of the water is scarred by waves, clawed black swathes reaching to blot out the moon.

The sky retaliates, hurling freezing rain down to earth, lightening splitting clouds in two with frenetic fingers, and the wind rushes over the sea swooping past peaks of water into the deep troughs rushing towards shore.

To those who have been caught outside, unaware of the warning signs, of when the smell of the storm first permeated the air, this feels like it might be the end of the world as we know it.

Maybe the world will be cracked right in half by the warring elements.

The harbour curves protectively around the ships like an embrace, sailboats bobbing on water that is still rocky despite the shelter.

Deep below the surface of the water, anchors remain undisturbed, planted firmly in sand. The commotion that feels so impossibly great does not even rock the shining spokes, does not loosen their grip on the earth.

There is silent surety here, the absence of sound and fury.

Only the shifting silt and silky seaweed move, brushing gently past the anchors, following the ebb and flow of the slow-moving current at the bottom of the sea.